The Dictionary
by bloo-hyena
Summary: You, the reader, have stumbled upon an ancient looking dictionary while at the park. Where did it come from? What does it do? Read and find out! (oh, and I've made the character female...I apologize in advance to the male readers) Reader x Hetalia one-shots Rated T just to be on the safe side. The cover image is from Zerochan
1. Introduction

**Hey there! So this will be my second official piece of work (or works, since I'll be doing a series of one-shots underneath this).**

 **So yeah, basically, I'll be taking a weird word (with a rather simple but meaningful definition) and the theme of the one-shot will be based on that particular word; hence the title 'The Dictionary'. I hope you guys will enjoy it ^-^**

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Hetalia x Reader

The Dictionary—Introduction

Ah, the park. So lush, so green, so…tranquil. The perfect place for gathering your thoughts or just lazing about; don't you agree?

And that's exactly where a twenty-something non-entity, (f/n) (l/n), sat, engrossed within the crevices of her mind, not even caring for the splintering wood of the bench poking into her rump in a very uncomfortable way.

In her lap was a large, thick book of a thousand pages or so, whose leather cover was slowly wearing away with time. The title of said book was engraved in a beautiful font across the top: 'With Every Word Imaginable—The Dictionary'.

Why, you may ask, was she sitting there with a fancy, old dictionary? Well, why do you read fanfictions?

Exactly.

Well, that, and, the book wasn't actually hers. It just happened to be there when she arrived.

She chewed a bit on her fingernails, contemplating on which word to look up next. After all, it wasn't everyday one would stumble across such a fine looking piece of literature! (Could a dictionary be considered a part of literature?) She wished to look up as many words as possible, before the original owner of the book would come along to look for it.

However, just as the (h/c)-ette sought out the word she was looking for, something much unexpected happened…


	2. Phantasmagoria--Japan

**(a/n) I have no excuses. I'll just say I'm sorry for taking such a hell a of long time to finish just one chapter T-T I'm also sorry if it seems confusing, but I think the haphazardness suits the title. But, if it is too confusing...then I'll just have to work harder to make competent stories**

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Japan x Reader

Phantasmagoria

 _Phantasmagoria: a sequence of real or imaginary events, which appear like that in a dream_

A ring of pictures—floating, hazy, magical looking things—suddenly surrounded her. Despite her state of shock, (f/n) reached out with intense curiosity to one of them. A jolt went through her body, and all of a sudden, forming around her in pixels, the scene in the picture replaced the familiar sights of the park.

Her head throbbed in pain; something that was inevitable when one found their memories being taken over almost entirely. (F/n) couldn't find it in her will to resist; mostly because she had no idea _what in the world_ was going on, and a little because she was scared to find out what would happen if she did try to oppose the steadily flowing stream of somebody else's past. Oddly, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still aware of the fact that she was still in the park, yet all her other senses concentrated only on what she was viewing currently—a golden sunset, near a mountainside lake.

Someone cleared their throat. She whipped her head around in surprise; at a respectable distance, sat an elegant man with his legs folded beneath him. He was adorned in a loose fitting, royal blue colored yukata, whose checked pattern long ago faded. His hair was a silky black, falling straight and meticulously kept so as to not fall past his chin. Despite the bagginess of his garments, she was still able to make out his figure; he was small, and thin—lean, that is—but the look on his face showed maturity beyond her age. No, he wasn't an old man; he was about her age, and although (f/n) wasn't one to consider looks, she had to admit there was something ethereal about his alabaster skin, the way his chin gracefully pointed out and how smoothly his jaw connected to his high-boned cheeks; and his eyes—while no other part of his face showed even the slightest hint of any emotion, those deep, brown irises held secrets untold and overflowing sentiments.

For some reason, seeing him look like that made the (blond/brunette/ginger/other) feel somewhat melancholic herself. And she didn't even know him. Well, the person to whom the memory belonged to knew, but she technically didn't.

She suddenly spoke, as if it was some sort of scripted movie scene and it was her turn to speak the dialogues; the words coming out in a strange voice and foreign language (although she still understood), "Kiku-san, how long are you going to keep on staring out into the distance?" Worry and amusement laced her voice, a combination she hadn't really thought to be possible.

"Well; it would be rude of me to stare at you, so I felt the need to compensate. It's not nearly as beautiful as you, though, Sayuri." He turned to face her with one of the cutest smiles, and she couldn't help but blush, until she realized—her name wasn't Sayuri. (F/n) was no longer herself. But she continued to speak, as there was no way to stop the actions of someone else.

"Oh, you're such a terrible flirt!" she laughed; a laugh that was pretty and gentle, like a wind chime; his statement had filled her with dizzying warmth, nevertheless. Never had (f/n) felt a love as fluffy and innocent as this girl's towards the man. The sweetest, lightest strands of warm pink candy floss that melted into a puddle of joy in one's mouth could only compare.

They spoke no more after that, as if the time would waste away even faster if they did. The silence wasn't poignant, nor was it in any way uncomfortable; it was just _there_ , enveloping the both (or rather, the three of them) in its delicate yet entrancing clutches. And indeed, the time appeared to slow down for them, as the seconds lasted for hours.

The wind picked up and drifted across with it, the scent of fresh camphor and the crisp smell of clean air one would only find at high altitudes. Various insects hummed and filled up the silence with lulling white-noise, and she could slowly feel the girl's eyelids becoming heavier, making blinking (as well as staying awake) a slow and laborious process. In return, (f/n) also began to feel the drowsiness.

"Sayuri? Are you feeling sleepy?" Kiku's gentle voice inquired at last. She shook her head, but her pathetically stifled yawn told otherwise. He laughed quietly and gingerly tread closer to her, carefully easing her head down to lay on his lap. His fingers, though calloused, felt heavenly as they brushed and slid through her head. "Sleep now, it'll be all right…" he whispered.

 _Hypothetically speaking, if there was such a thing as perfection, this ought to be it_ ; (f/n) dreamily thought, drifting off into sweet, serene slumber.

From afar, watching longingly, two eyes gleamed in the darkness.

* * *

(F/n) woke up with a start, finding herself in a desolate, white expanse that stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see. She suddenly felt very cold, upon realizing how warm it had been in Kiku's lap, and there were no traces whatsoever of either him or Sayuri. The starchy brightness of the room pained her eyes, and she was blinking rapidly in hopes to adjust herself to the new setting.

While doing so, she noticed a blurry figure suddenly appear to the side, and froze. Her eyes widened as it came closer; it didn't look menacing or hostile in any way, rather, the gait was which it approached her was very elegant and calm; however she couldn't shrug off the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

"Hello." The voice that greeted her was very familiar. (F/n) looked up (she was still on the floor), and saw a pretty girl, probably only sixteen or seventeen, with dark, glittery eyes and iridescent auburn hair.

"H-hello…?" It then dawned upon her. "Sayuri? Are you Sayuri?"

A dainty, fluttery laugh echoed throughout the hall. Now, (f/n) had been looking at Sayuri all this time, and she had not opened her mouth; it was set as an artificially sweet smile. Where did that laugh come from then?

"It was me, if you were wondering." It was definitely her speaking, but her lips never moved, nor did her mouth make any signs of opening. "It's called telepathy." She explained to the confused woman, her smile appearing to grow wider, "And this is my consciousness."

(F/n), however, wasn't sure on whether to be delighted or horrified by her presence. She was amazed at he own tolerance for something so shocking in the first place; being sucked into someone else's memory was one thing, being a part of their body was another thing, but actually meeting the person within the memories herself, in her _mind_ , no less, was something that just had to cross the line.

"Why are we here? What do you want from me?" (F/n) cautiously asked, stiffly getting up and taking a few steps away from the girl. The part of her mind that reassured her that she was still sitting on the park bench ceased to reassure her. She was truly somewhere else now, with no means of escape.

More laughter chimed as Sayuri gracefully stepped forward, her dazzling pink yukata swishing above her...

 _Feet? She doesn't have any feet or ankles! Just_ _ **what**_ _is she?_

"(F/n)-san," she started talking, her voice slightly colder and hollower than before. What happened to the pure, innocent girl back in the memory? The one whose entire being screamed of cordiality and piety? "(F/n)-san; you don't know how long I've been waiting for a moment like this." Laughter rattled and oozed noxious notes, and the walls were slowly greening and their smooth surfaces bubbling.

"W-waiting for what?" she asked, inhaling sharply as she nearly tripped while she continued to back away.

"Why, it's in your hands. Haven't you figured it out yet?" Sayuri's melodic voice was sweet, but laced with dullness and malice.

In (f/n)'s hands, a familiar, tough, leathery material was felt. She looked down in awe to find the dictionary in her hand. "I-it's the…bu-but why…? How? Why me?"

She chuckled darkly. "Oh, it could have been anyone, really. But you picked it up. Curiosity isn't always such a good thing, I'm sure you're aware of it now." She drifted closer, close enough for (f/n) to smell the rotten scent of decaying flowers. She gagged a bit, but could not step back. Sayuri's flesh slowly started dripping off to form a thick, sickening pool of skin and deep crimson, almost black, blood.

The air went biting cold, and (f/n) could barely control her urge to scream, so she let it out. A long, winding, desperate, agonizing, fear-bound shriek.

Only a skeleton with blood vessels and bits and pieces of flesh sticking onto it, along mop of hair on the bleached skull, was left in front of her. Rattling laughter bounced around the walls and the skeleton spoke, "I've been waiting very long for a new body. Very, very, very long." She rasped, clattering her teeth together.

Bile rose up (f/n)'s throat, and her guts churned and gurgled uncomfortably. The familiar, horrendous feeling of nausea washed over her senses. She'd rather have her eyeballs gouged and her eardrums stabbed so she wouldn't have to witness or hear that…thing.

A fleshless hand reached out to grab strands of her (blond/brown/black/red/other) locks. (Eye col) orbs widened and squeezed shut in wait for the horrors to come. Icy coldness washed over her, sending crawling shivers down her back and giving her gooseflesh.

The crawling and shivering ceased all at once, however.

Daring, she cracked one eyelid open. Shining, golden grass as far as the eye could see. Somewhere in the distance, a murder of crows squawked and screeched, and she fully opened both of her eyes.

 _What is with this place and changing sceneries?! And…where is Sayuri?_ (f/n) pondered. The field stretched on forever, and there were only a few trees, the largest one upon which the crows resided.

The earth beneath her trembled slightly, and a tomb marker suddenly popped into existence. The engraving on it made her blood run cold. Her mind refused to believe what was written on it. It couldn't be.

 _(F/n)(L/n)—here her soul lies, she brought upon her own demise._

"Do you like it? I made it especially for you. You'll need a place to rest after I take your body, so you should be thankful. Most of us don't think this far, you know." Sayuri's sickeningly sweet voice whispered in her ear.

She jumped in the air like a frog, and whirled around in shock. Instead of a young girl, the most grotesque old hag stood; her back was slightly hunched, her nose flattened and donning a large wart, lips a mere, crisp line and wrinkles in abundance across her face, neck and arms. The previously auburn hair was now an ugly gray, and so were her dark eyes.

At least she wasn't a skeleton anymore.

The old woman took feeble steps forward, causing (f/n) to reflexively step back. The earth trembled a little bit more, and a hole opened up right behind her. It would take mere steps to fall right in.

"That's right, scoot a little more back…" Sayuri cackled as she continued to walk forward.

A dog bayed in the distance. Its sound was steadily becoming louder, and this distracted Sayuri. To (f/n), it was beyond a blessing, and she took the opportunity to run away—only to be stopped halfway by bumping into someone. Whoever it was, was definitely not on her side, because as soon as she tried to pull away, a strong hand gripped onto her tightly to prevent her escape.

"Let go!" she screeched, thrashing about wildly.

"Calm down, you don't want her to find you, do you?" Kiku's welcoming voice rang through her ears, although it held contempt and sombre, completely opposite from the gentleness during the sunset. His brown eyes gleamed with an unknown emotion as he glanced down at her, and he looked as if he wished to say something, but—

"Oh, dear, this won't do, now will it? Let go of her _darling_ ; I can't be with you unless you do!" Sayuri wailed in rage, approaching the duo at a godly speed.

"Stay back," he instructed (f/n), forcefully pushing her behind him. He tensed and stood in stance, getting ready to draw the katana hanging in the sheath attached to his obi. His eyes were that of a starved lion eying its forthcoming prey. It was terrifyingly beautiful, for some reason.

With amazing precision and accuracy, he revealed the shining, silver blade in a single swoop, and cut through Sayuri without hesitation in another—something that left (f/n) both disgusted and awestruck. Normally, one would hesitate immensely before killing someone they loved, but Kiku didn't even bat an eyelash. He didn't seem like the person who would feign affection for someone, either. It must have been absolutely heart shattering to do so; which led her to wonder one more question: why choose her, a total stranger, over his lover (however demonic and deranged)?

Her body fell limp in a pile of black, gooey blood, which killed any living thing in its immediate surroundings, as if it was a highly concentrated acid.

Deeming it safe, she came forward to stand next to him, unknowingly moving closer to the decaying body.

"NO!" but it was too late.

A blood-coated arm stretched out and latched itself firmly on (f/n)'s denim clad leg, burning through the fabric, soon making her skin boil over with sickening sizzling sounds while she howled in agony. The goo seeped and seared through her muscles, quickly making its way into her bones. She stumbled to the ground, unwittingly falling into more of the goo. Her screams filled the air while violent tremors struck her body as the cursed blood ate through her, pulling her closer and closer to where Sayuri's body lay.

Spots of black took over her vision and she began to cough up some of her own blood. _I-I can't believe this is it…th-this is t-too…_

A blinding white light filled her vision, enveloping (f/n), giving her a sensation of being carried off somewhere. The pain almost instantly stopped as it did, too, and she felt as if her body was being repaired while being blanketed by it. Although faint, she felt as if she could hear Sayuri crying out as if she was being dragged off to somewhere.

 _Serves her right._ (F/n) managed to think with whatever energy she had left.

She soon blacked out.

* * *

"Miss, please wake up!" A soft, accented voice pleaded.

Taking in a sharp breath of air, she shot up a few inches from her seat on the bench, emitting a squeaky yelp as she did so.

 _Wait—bench?_

(F/n) began patting her body all over, as well as anything and everything in her immediate surroundings, not sure on whether she was still alive or experiencing one of those 'life flashing in front of my eyes' moments from whatever was happening before—but this was much too real and long to be that, wasn't it? It couldn't have been a dream, either, because she was sure that blood destroyed her brain, and it would have succeeded in killing her if not for that white flash—whatever that was.

The surroundings were the same as when she left, she was pretty sure; her memory was something that wasn't to be tried with.

And then, her eyes landed on the kind stranger who woke her up.

Really, with all the surprising events that happened so far, she was amazed that her heart hadn't given out under all the stress. Kiku, in all his exotic beauty, stood in front of her—although, not in a yukata, but in a simple jacket and worn out pair of jeans. It still suited him, though—that is, if it _was_ still him.

"Kiku?" She experimented his name on her tongue; it was awfully pleasant to say, if she were to be honest.

He broke out into his cute little smile, blush and all. (F/n)'s heart skipped a beat and those feelings she had felt back at the mountainside began to flood her heart and mind once more, making her head spin slightly. It didn't help that he bent down and engulfed her into a hesitant hug.

He was warm, really, really warm, and smelt like the first day of spring—a beautiful, relaxing scent that made her forget everything, even the fact that they were still technically potential strangers.

"For a second there, I thought I was going to lose you again, Sayuri." He whispered lovingly as he sat down next to her, squeezing her hands in his.

She frowned and pulled away. "My name is (f/n). Besides, wasn't Sayuri the one who…you know? Who tried taking my body?"

His face paled a little, and he quickly shook his head to deny the statement. "Oh, no, never! That wasn't Sayuri. That was Matsuri, her cousin—her very jealous and vengeful cousin. She committed suicide because Sayuri and I were in love, and vowed to never rest until she had me. You…you look just like her—Sayuri, I mean—so I guess that's why she went after you." He explained, with a dangerously quiet voice, as if nobody, except for her, was allowed to hear the truth. "If anything, it was Sayuri who saved you." He added at the end, after a few silent moments.

(F/n) was still utterly confused, and slightly speechless, but decided not to question or argue further.

"So…what now?" she thought aloud.

He chuckled slightly. "I guess we have some catching up to do. If you don't mind, that is." Her hand was back into his, as he ran his thumb gently across each of her smooth knuckles.

She nodded mutely, but didn't speak; nor did he.

From the corner, if one would look clearly, they would see a shadow peering forlornly down at the two from the tree behind them


	3. Petrichor-England (part 1)

**A/n: Um...so...I haven't posted in like...half a year, and I'm really sorry about that, for those of you who followed those stories in hopes of regular updates. I'll try much harder to update from now on; I just can't seem to juggle schoolwork and writing very well. But I will try! And I will not give up on this series either. I've made a little change though; I'll be posting the stories in two parts, since it becomes very long x.x So this is part 1 of the England x reader**

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England x Reader

Petrichor

 _Petrichor: That lovely smell produced after the first rain falls upon dry earth_

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and (f/n) broke from her little reverie with a sudden jolt. The once sunny, bright blue afternoon of the park was now suddenly a morbid grey, filled with an innumerable amount of dark, ominous clouds.

"Well, damn. There goes my day…" she grumbled as the first few drops of rain began to sprinkle down to meet the earth. A strange sizzling sound emitted from the book when a drop fell on it, making her drop it into a small puddle that was steadily growing larger—along with the sizzling. Thin ribbons of whitish smoke rose up from it, and in panicked haste, she picked it up; only to burn herself and drop it again.

Lightning flashed, the downpour became heavier and slanted, thunder boomed, (f/n) jumped. She couldn't just let the book burn away; thank goodness it wasn't bursting into flames yet. Just to her luck, a lonesome polythene bag drifted along, and dragged across her feet, where she quickly picked it up and used it to wrap up the near-kindling book. It was still very, very hot, and the pain from the earlier burn was becoming more and more agonizing; but it had stopped its combustion. Just imagine what would have happened if it _had_ burned up completely? How in the world did it start burning in the first place? She knew that sodium burned in water, but paper?

 _Now's not the time to show off your inner scientist, (f/n)!_ She chided herself, and began to run in the direction which she knew to lead to the main road. She'd find a bus stand and take shelter there until the weather calmed down.

Her (Eye color) orbs squinted and desperately tried to guide her along the choked up and misty area, but the rain prevented her from keeping her eyes open for more than three seconds. To make matters worse, a dense, white fog was starting to roll in.

It didn't take much time to envelop round her and leave her blinded; snowy-white mist as far as the eye could see! The vapors in it were so thick, that, if she already hadn't been drenched by the rain, she would have easily been soaked to the bone right then and there.

Her legs guided her aimlessly though the thick cloud, for what seemed like an eternity. It was rather peculiar; she would've expected herself to hit a tree at this rate, or maybe spy the headlights of a car or two; surely she couldn't still have been in the park after walking for so long? Maybe she was unknowingly going in circles.

She dug out her phone so she could call someone to pick her up, but to her dismay, there was no reception whatsoever.

 _Stupid rain, messing with the stupid towers…_ she grumbled, and stomped around for a while in frustration. To her surprise, the feel beneath her feet was not that of the concrete sidewalk of the park, nor was it the asphalt of a road—it felt oddly like the rustic stone path that surrounded her grandmother's home back in (Country/Hometown).

 _Am I near some neighbourhood? Just how far and long was I walking…?_ She wondered, her nose twitching and filling up with that horrendous, ticklish feeling one would experience just before sneezing. It didn't come, however (eliciting a string of curses from our dear heroine; because nothing could be worse than a sneeze that didn't sneeze, not even being stuck within a ridiculously thick, pea-soup fog in the middle of a thunderstorm—possibly in the middle of nowhere, too).

Faint noises started to fill her ear while she continued to walk on, which she probably wouldn't have heard if the rain hadn't slowed.

"…Funny...are…are those horses I hear?" she spoke with aghast, taking more steps towards the general direction of the noise, and, surely enough, the rhythmic clip-clop of horse hooves dragging some sort of wagon or carriage became more clear. It was soon joined by the sound of people chattering and bickering, and dogs howling and children wailing. Thin streams of orange light from some overhead lamppost aided her as she strode closer and closer to the source of the noise.

The fog evaporated around her; first very slowly and gently, then, as if purposely making way for her, parting into two sides and completely dissipating to nothingness.

The rain had stopped immediately after the fog went away. In the dinky amount of light, (f/n)'s eyes widened at the sight around her. A late nineteenth-century or early twentieth century English marketplace—which was overcrowded and, as she stood there longer, very putrid smelling. The smell was probably coming from all the roaming stray goats and dogs; possibly the people, too, because they all looked like they hadn't had a bath in months: dirt and grime streaked their ghostly faces, sweat clung and matted their hair, and clothes all tattered and used.

Either she had just traveled through time, or this was just a really good (albeit queer) re-enactment.

The pleasant smell of (favorite flower) saved her from fainting from the stench and led her down a calm alley, leaving the marketplace behind and drawing her closer and closer to some sort of estate resting upon a gently sloping hill. The disparity between the previous scene and the elegant mansion that she was now facing was vast; was it even possible these two things to be in the same place?

She was skirting near the gates of the manor, the pleasant smell combining with dozens of other familiar smells—but oddly enough, still retaining enough of its strength to not completely mix in with the other odors. In fact, she could distinctly make out the other aromas clearly: cherry pie, fragrant rose, exotic mangoes—even roast turkey, among many others.

There was no smoke coming out of the ancient, Gothic mansion. It must have been empty; but then where were those smells coming from? And it looked beautiful; in a haunting way, but still very attractive. Could she go in?

As if reading her thoughts, the wrought iron gates opened with an eerie creak, rightfully making her jump out of her skin. She stood there for some time, wondering whether she should venture inside or run away. While the latter seemed more suitable, something else drew her in; a feeling that she couldn't fathom or describe. Like, she just _had_ to go in; it was an instinctive feeling.

Her footfalls made no noise as she walked along the smoothly paved stone of the rather dreary and spooky looking front lawn of the huge manor, taking in the magnificent sight of a mildew covered fountain and the ten meter tall statue located right in the middle of it, the entire setup surrounded by untrimmed hedges and wildflowers. The walls of the fence of the manor stretched endlessly and were shrouded by mossy vines and other creeping plants, some of which looked rather exotic and otherworldly.

Walking further in, (f/n) noticed the only groomed and tended part of the entire lawn—two rosebushes, both which sprawled on either side of the porch, stopping exactly at the steps to the door. Bright red flowers were in full bloom, their scent mingling with the other scents.

Upon closer inspection, she noted the fat, crystalline drops of water resting on each petal—someone had been watering them, and just recently! So this place wasn't as abandoned as it looked.

 _But who would live in such a dark, dinky place like this? I mean, as beautiful as it is, I wouldn't stay here any longer than I would stay on a pile of burning coal…_ (f/n) thought, looking around both directions (which was useless, considering how desolate the place was), before plucking the largest, reddest rose she could find—as mindful as she was of the thorns, she still pricked herself rather badly—and quickly placed it within the pocket of her shirt.

As she tended to the neatly pierced, steadily bleeding cuts in her fingers, she hit a sudden realization. "Hey wait a second—something's missing…THE DICTIONARY!"

However, before she could retrace her steps to see if she dropped it somewhere while her little loitering session beforehand, she was met with the face of a rather handsome, blond haired man.

"Whoa!" she nearly screamed, slapping her hands over her mouth. No, it was not his sudden appearance, or the fact that he looked like he was ready to rip her apart in two that shocked her—no, not at all. It was the fact that—

 _Holy crap! Are those eyebrows or caterpillars? Oh god, I think I'm gonna be sick…_ unfortunately, what (f/n) _thought_ that she was _thinking_ , she actually _said_ it _aloud_. The man didn't seem overjoyed to hear it, either.

"Those are indeed my eyebrows, miss," he stated in a stately English accent with a crisp, not too high nor too low voice, "And I don't think you have the right to be sick, especially since _you_ sneaked into _my_ property, stealing one of my roses no less!" His emerald eyes burned holes into her pocket.

She stepped back and flushed. "I—I'm really sorry; honestly! I thought they were wild roses, I didn't think anyone was living here…" her eyes lowered in shame, because she knew it was a blatant lie, and for unfathomable reasons, she felt very guilty for telling such a nice looking man something untrue.

"My lady, there is a big difference between red roses and wild roses," though he still sounded furious, his expression might have softened just a little bit, upon glancing at the wounds on her hands. He sighed and continued after she didn't reply. "Well, it wouldn't be right of me to leave you out here, especially with your injuries. Thief or not, you're still a woman, and it wouldn't be fair to call me a gentleman if I left you out here to bleed. Come with me, please."

By the time (f/n) looked up, he was already at the steps of the mansion, holding out his gloved hand to her. She took hesitant steps towards him, still wary (because who knew, maybe he was hiding his malice with that mask of benignity). She did not accept his outstretched hand for the same reason, and stood as still as a corpse as he opened the door.

"I won't kill you, I promise." He chuckled (but then covered up his smile almost instantly). She still didn't accept, and he opened the door with a roll of his eyes. "I suppose you'll want me to walk inside first, right?" he walked in without hearing her answer anyway.

(F/n) moved rather drearily and slow—don't mistake it for fear; she had yet to be cured of her curiosity—however, her body seemed to become heavier and tired the more steps she took. She would have panicked if she had the energy to. The man, turning back to see if she followed or not, widened his eyes in horror and rushed by her side.

"Oh my, it seems you've made a terrible mistake—you plucked that rose from the left-side bush, didn't you? Damn, those were poisonous…" He muttered angrily and propped her up by his side before she could fall.

She spoke up softly, "How was I supposed to know they were poisonous?" her breath was becoming laboured. However, her eyes caught sight of a light green flash—or was that just her imagination?

"Oh no, I can assure you—you'd very well have known if you would have _read_ the signs posted around the bush! Forget that now—oh hell, you've even gone and burned yourself! Can you go a moment without injuring yourself?! Didn't your parents teach you anything?" he continued to nag and chide her all the way upstairs, until finally he burst open the door of a dingy room that reeked of cleaning solvents and rubbing alcohol. Oddly enough, whenever he mentioned her parents, her pain distorted into anger for a moment before reverting back.

He promptly laid her down on a creaky cot and fumbled around the room to find a light switch. A ghostly yellow lamp lit up momentarily, providing just enough illumination for him to read the labels on the numerous bottles lined upon the now visible shelves of the room. After finding the correct one, he opened several drawers and dug around blindly in them, until a syringe appeared in thin air right next to him—as if by magic.

 _I must be… imagining things…yeah, it's this…poison... or whatever. Or… you know what? I'm dreaming. Yeah, only… dreaming. I must have… dozed off …in the park, that's…all. I'll wake up…any…sec…ond…._ (f/n)'s train of thought was becoming slower and she could begin to feel the numbness that took over her upper body just moments ago. She felt it creep up closer to the remaining half of her body, and she her consciousness was but a mere strand that was closing to snapping.

He injected her with whatever the stuff was before she finally gave in and delved into a coma-like state—she could feel everything again, and she could hear the man mutter some peculiar things—but she could not move or open her eyes.

 _I'll wake up…I'll wake up…I'll…wake…up…_

She soon drifted off to sleep.


	4. Petrichor-England (part 2)

**A/n: Well, part two. After such a long time. I'm...not going to say anything more, but enjoy...**

* * *

(The following scene of Arthur's cooking has been edited out for the sake of the reader's sanity and stomach fluids. In a gist, she risked her life to enter the warzone that was his kitchen and came back victorious, but heavily scarred for life)

Arthur sank into his chair, muttering whatnot about how his cooking was not _that_ awful. Well, in a way, he was right; it wasn't awful. It was pure evil. (F/n) even retracted her comment about his hands being unable to conjure up anything evil—apparently, now she knew they could.

"…Say, Arthur, are you a doctor?" she mused after a few moments of silence between them. As of now, they were seated in a dining hall, on opposite ends of the comfortably small table that rested in the centre of the room.

"Actually, no. I know quite a lot about medical science…but I could never quite pass the exams. I decided to give up after the third time I failed." He nonchalantly replied, swirling the wine around I his glass. He inhaled the scent of the musky red liquid a few times before sipping on it.

"And…?"

"And what?"

"What do you do now? Tend to gardens?" she retorted.

"In my spare time, sometimes. Otherwise, I'm a perfumer." He said, finishing off his wine and setting the glass down. Wordlessly, two male servants, clad in black, came to clear the table. It made (f/n) wonder why he decided to cook for himself if he had servants to begin with; once again she said this thought aloud without realizing.

Arthur scoffed. "A man can do whatever he wishes to, can't he? You certainly do, coming to people's houses and stealing their prized roses."

"Can't you let it go?" she hissed, "And remember, those "prized roses" almost killed me." She made quotation marks in the air while saying 'prized roses'. It annoyed her even more when he waved his hand to drop the subject.

"Never mind about me. You haven't told me anything about yourself." He propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the palm of his hand.

"W-Well, there isn't anything, really…I go to (college/work/other), I (want to be/am) (profession), that's why." She mumbled out.

Arthur hummed in reply. "What about your family?" He hadn't expected her face to go dark at such a simple question, but it did—it brightened up moments later, however.

"I'd rather not talk about them, if you don't mind." Cue the long, uncomfortable silence. "Besides, there's not much to talk about. It's not like they were there all the time." She added ominously at the end, almost too quiet to hear.

"Would you like to see some of my works?" he offered when she began to sulk again. It worked, because she perked up within seconds.

He led her across the hall, back to the foyer and up the left side of the grand staircase to enter the west wing of the mansion. It was lit by several gas lamps, which gave off a ghostly orange shine on the metallic knobs of each door they passed. There were several paintings and busts lining the hall they were passing through—all of them were of Arthur.

They halted in front of a grand piano, which looked terribly out of place. There was nothing beyond it except for a pitch black wall.

"Um…there's nothing here." She deadpanned.

He smirked a bit. "Just wait and see." He pressed on a few of the white keys, which let out sharp, ringing notes in the still air. When the reverberation stopped, she could hear faint rumbling coming from the direction of the wall—it opened up to a secret passage!

"Righteous! But…why do you need to hide your workshop?" she peered curiously into the dark pathway. It looked like it could go on forever. Arthur picked a lamp from the wall and handed it to her.

"I have very jealous competition, that's why. They'll do anything to get their hands on my recipes and formulae." He explained, waiting for her to enter.

(F/n) decided to tease him a bit. "What if I was a spy? What would you do then?"

He grinned wickedly. "I'd have fun disembodying you, then. But I have my ways. You're definitely not a spy; just a lost young lady." He patted her shoulder and urged her to move.

The corridor dipped suddenly; (f/n) didn't notice the stairs and nearly fell over, only to be caught by Arthur. "Careful," he warned. After spiralling down almost a hundred steps, they finally entered into a large, pentagonal subterranean room. The walls were covered entirely in pieces of stained glass, creating different but otherwise shapeless designs. Ventilators also lined the sealing, providing fresh air from above.

He walked over to a pristine white counter in the middle of the room and opened a small door at its side—puffs of white, condensed air came out from it—a fridge? His hands returned from the apparent refrigerator with several test tubes containing vibrantly coloured but transparent liquids. It was very faint, but she could smell the individual scents of each; just like when she first chanced upon his manor.

"How do you do that?" she asked when he set them down on the counter closest to her.

"Beg pardon?" he was now in the process of pulling on a lab coat that must've see a lot of experiments in its old days. It was worn down and barely reaching his knees, with small, singed holes in its sleeves.

"Make the smells stand out without mixing." She answered while leaning in to observe the liquids in each vessels. There were four in total, one very pale pink, the other a deep blue, the third clear, and the fourth light green. The distinct scent of (fav. Flower) was coming from the clear one.

He lifted up one test tube to eye level, the blue one, and swished it around. "That's obviously a secret. Even if you were my mother, I wouldn't tell you."

"It's magic isn't it?" her words nearly made him drop it.

"There is no such thing as magic, miss (F/n), I thought I made it clear!" Arthur regained his composure and scowled deeply.

"You're not telling me so I have to assume!" she cheekily grinned.

He rolled his eyes and wordlessly handed over the test tube to her. She didn't have to bring it much close, the smell wafted into her nose within seconds. It was sharp, not very sweet and it made her flashback to a school trip they had in the mountains. "What is this?"

"A mixture of cedar and pine. I find their scents very refreshing, don't you?"

"Yeah. It even reminds me of the time I went to the mountains as a child."

He beamed brightly, satisfied that his work was amazing enough to induce memory. It was something he had been trying out, but he never found anyone to try it on. With (f/n) there, he took full advantage of the situation to try out the rest of his perfumes to see if they held the same affect.

The strangely clad (brunette/blonde/ginger/etc) gave far more interesting answers than he expected. Upon smelling the perfume he made from tomatoes, she commented it reminded her of her friend's grandparents' home; they were a nice, deeply rooted Italian family. The scent he made to resemble freshly washed linen reminded her of the interior of a new car, specifically the 'air-conditioning' (obviously this confused him, but that was why the answer was interesting). The oddest one of all, however, was what she commented on the perfume designed to smell like wet soil. "It reminds me of you, for some reason. I can't think of anything else."

It was almost night when they finished.

"Say, wouldn't your family be concerned about your whereabouts? It almost slipped my mind that you hadn't come here intentionally. Do you have a telephone at your home? Or perhaps you'd prefer telegram?" Arthur had also apparently forgotten her aversion towards said family.

She had almost forgotten as well. It was only now that the dictionary reappeared in her thoughts, which replaced her anger. "Oh…oh no!"

"What? Is something the matt—oh yes, you're not… _fond_ of your relations."

"No, no, no, it's not that. But…" she trailed off, not sure on how to explain her situation to him. He didn't believe in magic, and she had no other explanation as to how she came there.

His usual frown set in. "But what?"

"Oh, Arthur, you won't believe me." She shook her head.

"That's for me to decide when you'll tell me what's going on!"

"…Alright." (F/n) bit her lip and exhaled deeply. "I'm not from here. As in, not from this _time_. Maybe not even this world, if it _is_ a different world. I was sitting in the park, reading this…this odd dictionary, and a storm unexpectedly hit! I was trying to find my way back…and I ended up here." She hadn't met his eyes the entire time she was speaking. When she did, she saw his eyes were hardened and his lips were pursed tightly, so much so that they were only a line on his pretty face. His expression hinted that he understood a little about what she was talking about, and there was even guilt lingering in it.

"A…dictionary, you say?" he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Don't tell me…it was ancient looking and held 'Every word imaginable'?"

(F/n) mutely nodded.

"Tell me…what word did you last read?"

She twirled several wisps of her (hair length) locks in her fingers. "Uh…I'm not sure. But I think it had something to do with rain…possibly."

He sighed. "Do you have it right now?"

"Nope. It disappeared when I came here." As soon as the last word tumbled out of her mouth, Arthur rushed to the room (F/n) had recognized as a library when he was giving her a little tour several hours back. She followed post-haste in bewilderment, only to find him madly tossing about every book from various shelves at a time. He emerged with a familiar looking book soon enough, however.

"Is this it?" he held it up for her to see.

She answered, "Yes, but how did it…"

He groaned and gave a haggard look. "It belongs to me. I didn't believe the merchant at first, but now I know I should've known more than to trust those pesky Eastern gypsies. I'm utterly sorry for all the trouble this has caused you, I'll look for a way to send to back home—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold it there!" her (e/c) irises burned brightly with betrayal, and she placed her fisted hands on her hips. "I thought you said ' _magic isn't real'_. Just what is this, huh?"

Arthur was ashamed, to say the least, but he was repenting it. "Like I said, I'll find a way to get you back home. If you can remember the word you read, I can find a way to reverse the effects and send you—"

(F/n) cut him off again. "Whatever! I could care less, actually, if it wasn't for (profession/dream job). Why are you so eager to send me back, anyway?" she knew she was being ridiculous; the poor chap was only trying to help her. However, even though it was only for a little while, her time spent with Arthur was the greatest in her life. Someone who didn't brush her aside, who actually listened to her, who thought her existence mattered—well, she wasn't too sure about the last part, but it felt like that to her. Even though it was only a little while, she still knew she wouldn't dare exchange his companionship for anything else. Was this what they called love at first sight? _No, maybe more like 'friendship' at first site. Amity, not love…I think._ She clawed at her head when she couldn't find the correct answer.

"Stop that!" he grabbed her arms and forced them down. "What has gotten into you? Don't you want to go back? You hate your family, but surely you have friends who'll miss you, right? Besides, you said so yourself—you're not from this time. If something were to happen and the flow gets disturbed—you might even be born. Do you want to disappear?"

"Not a lot of people would mind. I'm just a single person." She didn't look at him while responding.

"I would. I may not know you very well, but I know you're a better person than you let on. Quite brash and unladylike, but with a good heart. Those who can't see it are unfortunate." He wiped away a few stray tears off of her cheek.

She still refused to look at him, but her cheeks flushed. _It's definitely love. Yeesh, (f/n), how did you even get into this?_

"You know, you're very bad at keeping your thoughts to yourself." Arthur chuckled, which caused her to flare up more.

"A-anyway!" she finally found the courage to speak, "You said 'reverse'. Wouldn't that mean that none of this would ever happen? Like, this incident would be erased forever? And I won't…remember you." Her voice became softer and softer with each word.

He gazed (down/up) at her, pondered on something and then spoke, "How about…I give you something to remember me by?" Out of nowhere, he produced a crystalline vial and set it in her hands. "It's enchanted, so it won't disappear when you go back. Now, tell me the word, please."

She pursed her lips, but eventually couldn't stand his piercing look, and gave in.

"Thank you," he smiled genuinely, "Now, we'll begin. Good-bye, (F/n)." he gently leaned in to give a peck on her cheek, even though it was streaked with bitter tears.

"…Good-bye, Arthur."

* * *

"Hey, get out of the way, you crazy lady!" the horn of several cars blazed all around (F/n). It was still raining, but not as hard as before, and the fog was gone. She was standing in the middle of a crosswalk, but the sign on the pole opposite to her showed a glowing red figure. She was still in a daze, wondering how she got there, and didn't budge.

"My, my, miss, you're soaked to the bone! Let's get you to the bus stand, shall we?" a man's voice came from behind, accented in English and as sweet as honey. He was holding onto (F/n)'s arm and carefully guiding her back to the curb, and into the sheltered stand. She had yet to see who it was, but the mystery man disappeared among the crowd of other people, which she was only beginning to notice. Her attention shifted to her hands when they began to tingle.

In her palms, a single teardrop shaped container and within it, crystal blue liquid. It was looped through a silver chain, and no sooner had she brought it up to observe, the fragrance of rain infused earth wafted into her senses.

"Oh, Arthur…" she didn't know anyone by the name of Arthur, but that didn't stop the aching feeling in her chest, or the tears that were slowly slipping out of eyes.


End file.
